Cherry Blossoms

We saw the Cherry Blossom Festival in Newark yesterday. 2700 cherry blossoming trees were apparently in full pink-and-white flowering frenzy throughout the long, thin park in the middle of the sunny ghetto. We gathered at 2:30, got there at 3:40, ate some carnival-style food, and sat on the grass and watched COBU, a modern Japanese dance troupe my friend knows, perform a series of percussive traditional-fused-with-tap-dance numbers. The weather was really warm, and after a fruitless search for a bathroom that ended in abysmally abused port-o-potties near the Visitor's Center, we settled under a cool mossy patch of ground under a half-blooming cherry tree along the path. We watched the crowds, marveled at the number of Newark police that had been dispatched (including the sheriff) to ensure recreational justice, and finally decided it was time to go home to our Manhattan isle.

My friend Daron's new Japanese wife, Hana, is waylaid in Japan for the next two months getting processed so she can return to the States for good. In the meantime, he's been left alone to wander in cherry-blossom festivals and host banjo-playing Japanese dance troupes in his apartment on the weekends. So, we joined him for yakitori at Oh! Taisho restaurant on St. Marks, which happens to also serve the best potato salad in the city. I had some type of "calipori" drink, which was bright lime flavored and had the caffeinated aftereffect of a line of cocaine.

Spring has arrived-- and soon it will be summer! Until then, I must catch up on Deadwood.